


The Games we play are nothing more than repeated cycles

by angededesespoir



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Soldier's P.O.V.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: Soldier receives another late-night visit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _*Screeches* I finally got around to writing something for this ship!_  
>  (This can also be read on [Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/154674137005/the-games-we-play-are-nothing-more-than-repeated).)

Sleep stopped coming easy decades ago. It slipped away- a forgotten friend. In its’ place came the pots of bitter coffee, piles of paperwork, Ana’s concerned words- _‘You need to slow down, Jack’_ -, mysterious pills supplied by Angela that he cared not question the contents of. Now, he filled in time- an endless chase, a to-do list of who to kill and where. There was no time to rest- not with the amount of wrongs he needed to make right and the amount of corruption that still- after so many years- remained so near. 

 

It’s been 42 hours and he has been laying on a worn out mattress for an hour and 52 minutes, tired mind still refusing sleep and red numbers glaring at him from across the room, when he catches the soft _‘clud’_ coming from down the hall. He fights against instinct, training. Instead he shuts his eyes, tries to slow his breathing, but he cannot drain the tension from muscles too used to being ready to fight. And by all means, they should be ready, because the cool wisps ghosting across his skin are not a breeze, and the guttural whisper is not just a memory. 

The smoke is thickening, solidifying, and still he does not dare move, even though every fibre of his being is screaming at him. _(But what would he do if he could?)_ The bed begins to dip under added weight, and he has to fight off the shiver that goes through him as goosebumps begin to rise. _(The memory of the man once full of warmth floods him, leaves him with a bitter taste when once again he is forced to acknowledge that he misses being cradled in the heat of his sun, and it is his own fault that he has been robbed of it.)_

 _“The silent treatment again, Jack?”_ His mouth is dry and even if he wanted to, he cannot will his limbs to move.

There’s a clawed finger, tracing it’s way from edge of mask, down along vein of throat, following an invisible trail until it reaches the place where his heart pounds underneath. There’s the feel of being pierced, and a beading of blood that begins to slip down skin. But it’s the way he feels the shift of body, nearly flush against him, the dipping of the head, and the cool breath like ice against his ear, that makes him forget how to breathe.

_“I know you’re awake, cariño. How long will you insist on playing this game?”_

He’s so close, and he can’t decide whether or not he wants to slap the hand away, turn, punch him, or if he wants to give into that longing, apologize as he begs for the embrace he has not been welcome to for years.

 _“Even still, you have me chasing after you, and everytime I get close, you either ignore me or push me away. What’s wrong, Soldier?”_ The mask is pressed to his ear, words hissed. _“Are you afraid of death?”_

The talon digs in deeper, and he’s cringing, fighting not to move.

_“How long do you think you can keep this up? How long do you think you can go before death claims your heart again, Jack?”_

He does not answer. Seconds blur into minutes which hold eternity.....until they do not; until they are broken by withdrawn claw, blood gently seeping, a coldness losing form and name.

_“I would’ve stayed, right by your side. All you had to do was ask. But even after all these years, you can’t.”_

There’s the faintest caress, freezing him to the bone. His chest aches.

_“Death will come for you another day. Maybe then you’ll have the sense to give in.”_

He can feel the departure, feel the numbness setting in. 

Faintly, there is light beginning to peek over the horizon and still he cannot move, for his sun is gone.

_And he is the only one to blame._


End file.
